there’s almost no chance of recovery. According to Blossom, your father said, ‘If anything happens to me, pull the plug. I don’t want to be a vegetable.’ She wants him to die with dignity. Your father is an old man who’s had a massive heart attack.”
“He’s only eighty-four,” Violet said. “That’s not old, not in our family. His father, my grandpapa, lived to be ninety-seven. His mother passed away at a hundred and two. Daddy could go on for another ten, twenty years if he hadn’t married that woman. She murdered him.”
“Mr. Zerling is still alive,” Nancie said gently.
“Not for long,” Violet said. “He’s on a ventilator. My father is unconscious, wrapped like a mummy in tubes and wires. That machine makes the most horrible sound. I tried to see Daddy in the ICU, but that woman won’t let me in his room. She says I give off bad vibes.”
Helen saw tears welling up in Violet’s eyes again.
“That’s her right,” Nancie said. “Unfortunately, the law is on Blossom’s side. The judge denied your petition for guardianship.”
“If I may interrupt,” Phil said, “I find it hard to believe that a businessman like your father didn’t have a will or a medical directive.”
“Daddy hated lawyers,” Violet said. “After my divorce, he set up a trust to run his companies if anything happened to him, and settled half his personal wealth on me. Then he made even more money. Daddy said he’d make a will when he was old.”
“But he was eighty-four,” Phil said.
“That’s not as strange as it sounds, Phil,” the lawyer said. “Even smart people aren’t rational about wills. They’re afraid if they sign one, they’re signing their death warrant. They put it off until it’s too late. Mr. Zerling is an amazing man, but he is old.”
“Daddy is strong,” Violet said. “He will get better.”
He will recover—he won’t. Helen rode that same seesaw during her mother’s last illness. Her heart couldn’t accept what her mind knew.
Nancie turned toward Violet and her voice softened. “Violet, dear, I know this is hard for you to hear, but you must prepare yourself for the worst. Your father may not recover.”
From the depths of her beige purse, Violet pulled out a photo of a white-haired man on a glossy black stallion and handed it to Helen. She saw a square-jawed older man with a straight back and strong hands gripping the reins. He looked fit and muscular. Helen handed the photo to Phil.
“Look at him! Is this the photo of a man who would give up?” Violet’s eyes burned with fanatic fire and her pale skin was tinged with pink. For a moment, Helen got a glimpse of the vital woman she could be.
“That’s my father on his eighty-fourth birthday, three months before he met her,” Violet said. “He barely looks sixty. Blossom has reduced him to a thing on a machine. Soon Daddy will be nothing at all. He’ll be dead and she’ll have his millions and spend them on her boyfriend.”
“Violet,” Nancie soothed, “you must be careful what you say. That statement is actionable.”
“I’m saying it to you in your office,” Violet said. “These detectives work for you, right?”
“Yes,” Nancie said. “When Helen and Phil work for my firm, their investigation is protected by attorney-client privilege. Also, under Florida law, client communications with private investigators are protected. They can lose their licenses if they breach confidentiality.”
“Good,” Violet said. “That means I’m doubly protected. I want to prove she’s killing Daddy. Then I can be in charge of his care.”
“Violet,” Nancie said, “your father may not live long enough for that to happen.”
“If you can’t save my father, I want her in jail for murder. I have the money to get what I want.
“His millions may kill my father,” she said. “I want my money to save him.”
CHAPTER 2
“
Violet’s sentence sounded sweet to Helen: Nancie’s new client had just handed their struggling PI agency an unlimited expense account. Her reasons sounded noble: She wanted to save her father.
But Helen also detected discordant notes: Violet had used “I” twice, plus “money” and “want.” She’d packed a lot of ego into nine short words. She’d mentioned her father’s millions and her own money.
If Violet solved her problems by throwing money at them, she could give Helen and Phil’s newborn agency a healthy cash infusion.
But that sentence also signaled Violet could be difficult, demanding and determined to get her way. She was so eaten with hatred that she could not say her stepmother’s name. It was an unnerving pattern. Violet didn’t mention her ex-husband’s name, either. She’d erased the man, if not the damage he did to her.
Violet was in the grip of powerful emotions. Her desire for revenge could hinder their investigation.
You’ve spent years in retail, Helen told herself. This isn’t the first difficult person you’ve had to handle. Phil has enough charm for both of us, and Nancie stood up to a whole city and got her way. We can handle one rich, wounded client.
“I know how we can get that woman,” Violet said.
Phil caught Helen’s eye and raised an eyebrow at that
Nancie leaned forward in her desk and gave Violet a gunslinger’s stare. “We’ll be happy to consider any ideas you might have,” she said. “But I am in charge of any inquiry, and Coronado Investigations works with me. We will not do anything illegal or unethical.”
Violet sat back slightly, as if the force of Nancie’s statement made her retreat. She fumbled with her purse strap while she carefully chose her words and softened her voice. “I’m worried that woman will try to kill my father in the hospital,” she said. “She could smother him with a pillow or pull the plug on the ventilator. Then Daddy will never get a chance to recover.” A fat tear escaped and slid down her pale cheek.
Nancie seemed to suppress a sigh. Very slowly, as if she were explaining a complex subject to a small child, she said, “There’s no evidence your father is receiving improper treatment—or that he’s been poisoned. We need facts. All we have is his housekeeper’s bungled attempt to get Blossom arrested and an imaginary boyfriend.”
“He’s real,” Violet said. “She’s cheating on Daddy. My father needs protection, and I can’t be there to help him. That woman won’t let me into his ICU room, but she’d have to let in Daddy’s spiritual adviser.”
“Your father has a minister?” Helen asked.
“Yes,” Violet said. “You.”
Her words detonated a deafening silence. Violet rushed to fill it. “Daddy wasn’t religious. I don’t think he’s been in a church since Mama was buried. But that woman has been with Daddy such a short time she doesn’t know if he has a Baptist minister or a Buddhist monk.”
Phil said the name Violet couldn’t bring herself to pronounce. “Is Blossom from Fort Lauderdale?”
“That woman says she’s from California,” Violet said, “but who knows? Her maiden name—though I doubt she’s been one for years—is supposed to be Blossom Mae. We had dinner together after she and Daddy came home from the cruise. It was awkward. Watching my father slobber over her almost made me lose my dinner.”
Violet suddenly seemed aware of how bitter she must sound. “I guess you think I have issues with my father remarrying. I don’t. I want Daddy to be happy. But she’s pure evil.”
More tears trickled from her reddened eyes. Violet fished Phil’s handkerchief out of her purse and blotted her eyes, but she couldn’t stop weeping. Helen felt sorry for her. Violet seemed sincerely worried about her ailing father. But was she right about Blossom?
“I tried to get her to talk about herself,” Violet said. “Everyone likes to do that. She wouldn’t. All that woman would say was she grew up in San Diego and she went to work for the cruise line. I couldn’t pry another fact out of
